Chapter Two: Briefs, Biases, and Bra-Shaped SealsThe Ruffled Rest Inn, Day 8, Early Afternoon

  A rose-pink thundercp split the sky as Sealia the Layer descended in full legal regalia: heels made of hardened case w, a corset tight enough to store cross-examination notes, and a glittering sash reading “Reasonable Doubt.”

  Sealia was a siren-human-mermaid hybrid, a rare bloodline combination that gave her a courtroom presence somewhere between divine allure and absolute command. Her voice held echo magic she kept muted by w, and her movements had the smooth, deliberate grace of tidal persuasion. She didn’t walk into spaces so much as reshape them. It was said that arguing against her felt like trying to reason with a storm while admiring its hair.

  She looked radiant. Furious. Litigious.

  Reporters swarmed instantly.

  FairyScry Channel 6: “Sealia! Sealia! Are you officially representing the afflicted or simply lending enchantment support?”

  CNN (Cleavendale News Network): “What precedent are you citing for bodily autonomy vs. whim-based transformation?”

  Therian Legal Digest: “Any truth to the rumor that you called the fairy court ‘over-lubricated prank goblins in ce’?”

  Sealia turned her head just enough to let the enchantment catch the light on her lip gloss.

  “Ladies. Gentlemen. Ambiguous shapeshifters. I am here to establish boundaries. And if the court permits it, I intend to do so with style.”

  (Fshbulbs explode. A gnome faints.)

  Inside the InnMarabeth sat stiffly on a chaise, breasts buoyantly resettling every time she adjusted her robe. She watched Sealia approach like someone watching a rescue boat that might also be on fire.

  “You… came.”

  “Of course,” Sealia said, tossing her case scrolls onto the bed. “You’re cursed, embarrassed, humiliated, and every day more vulnerable to enchantment breakdown. I couldn’t resist.”

  Marabeth blinked. “Because you care?”

  “No. Because this case is delicious.”

  The Defense: Who Dares Defend the Boob Fairies?Enter: Atticus Nibbs, Esq.Race: Human Therian - Finch Variety Profession: Fairy Rights Defense AttorneyLocation: Velvet Tailwind (remote office), currently guest barrister in the capital

  Bio:Atticus is a wiry, sharp-tongued therian man, featuring feathers on his arms and plumage rather than hair, with thick spectacles and a penchant for passive-aggressive legal citations. Formerly a legal clerk in the Archive of Accepted Divinity in Altarra, he now specializes in defending magical beings against “mortal misinterpretation of whim-based enchantments.” He’s technically not a fairy, but speaks their dialect, has a glitter allergy, and once dated a sprite.

  Why He Took the Case:He cims it’s “a ndmark moment in mammary jurisprudence” and “about fairy expression rights,” but it’s mostly because Balconette promised him exclusive rights to publish her memoir “Tits and Tributions: A Fairy’s Misunderstood Journey.”

  Tactics:

  Frames Balconette as an overworked magical civil servant.

  Argues the curse was “an overcharge in the enchantment field” due to ambient spring fertility rituals.

  Insists Marabeth “did not file proper sarcasm shielding paperwork.”

  Frequently objects by shouting, “Boob bias!”

  Prelude to the Trial

  Jury Notes:Blink Wartskew (Goblin Everyman): Tired. Slightly sticky. Just wants the trial to end before his break. Keeps squinting at the testimony and muttering, “Should’ve taken the overtime shift at the prank shop.”

  Esmelda Branthorne (Paddlewick Wife, on Visa): A tightly-bunned, leather-aproned wife from Beltforge. She’s only in Cleavendale because her husband’s on a disciplinary innovation visa. She clutches a notepad and whispers things like, “Is… is this normal?” while nervously adjusting her fme-hardened corset.

  Retired Honk Horde Goose (Name: General Glonque): Wears a medal on one wing and honks with profound gravitas. His transtor, a young bard assigned by the court, cims every honk is poetry. Example:

  Honk! = “Her breasts were glorious. She must fly well.”

  Double honk! = “I rise in feathered protest.” (No one can tell if the bard is embellishing.)

  NewForm (Mannequin Juror): A silent, beautifully-carved mannequin animated by Loom thread-magic. He wears Travis Tithe’s hat, he’d found it years earlier and when Travis caught up to him he’d kindly allowed him to keep it. Fashion is part of identity in mannequin culture.. He speaks via sign and body nguage: tilts, thread color shifts, and posture changes. His “eyebrow raise” motion recently caused two clerks to faint from emotional resonance.

  Wil Butterbee – The BouBourg Bra-Gardener

  Race: HumanHometown: BouBourg (where magical bras grow on trees)Occupation: Bra Gardener, third generationVibe: Warm, practical, affectionate, deeply breast-aware but not enchanted by themQuote: “A well-supported woman thinks clearly. Always has.”

  Judge: Mammeta, Goddess of Mammaries

  Appearance: Impossibly statuesque, robed in living velvet that adjusts for drama. Her presence makes all seating feel slightly inadequate.

  Judicial Style: Fair, formidable, and painfully literal. Known for saying things like, “You may approach… if your cause is firm and supported.” Has no tolerance for lewdness without legal context.

  The Jury Veto RoundCourt Clerk (dryly): “Round three. Juror selection vetoes. Each side may reject one.”

  Candidate 1: Fecia, Demigoddess of Winging It She sauntered in with divine shimmer, a half-eaten croissant, and a wink aimed at the enchanted scales.

  Sealia (whispering to Marabeth): “Unpredictable. Unfiltered. She once filed an amicus brief by drawing a smiley face in lipstick.”

  Atticus Nibbs (defense): “Objection. Biased by proximity to divine pleasure goddess.”

  Mammeta: “Veto sustained. Miss Fecia, thank you for your time, you are dismissed.”

  Fecia (grinning): “Oh thank goodness! No one likes jury duty!”

  Candidate 2: Brother Tavin, Chaste Monk of Stillness Arrived wrapped in twelve yers of wool and one of judgment.

  Atticus (horrified): “That’s a walking abstinence pamphlet! He’ll vote guilty before the bounce!”

  Sealia (smirking): “Poor dear might rupture a blood vessel if someone coughs near cleavage.”

  Balconette (shouting from the balcony): “I veto the ascetic!”

  Atticus: The defense moves to veto.

  Mammeta: “Veto sustained. And please stop heckling, Miss Balconette.”

  Candidate 3: Blink Wartskew Goblin shop keep. Still smells faintly of balloon glue. Looks like he hasn’t slept since the st fiscal quarter.

  Both wyers look at each other. Both shrug.

  Mammeta: “Accepted.”

  Candidate 4: Esmelda Branthorne Tightly braided. Clutching a discipline journal.

  Sealia: “She’s scared enough of freedom to follow orders. She’ll cling to procedure like it’s a marriage colr.”

  Atticus (grumbling): “She might surprise us.”

  Mammeta: “Accepted.”

  Candidate 5: General Glonque Honks once. Transtor cims it means, “I know war. Jury duty is worse.”

  Mammeta:

  “Will you do your duty sir?”

  General Glonque:

  Honk, hiss, hiss honk.Transtor: “I always do my duty your honor.”

  Atticus (nervous): “…I’m too afraid to object.”

  Sealia: “No objection”

  Mammeta: “Accepted.”

  Candidate 6: NewForm, Sentient Mannequin Rolls forward in elegant silence, hat gleaming with unspoken gravitas.

  Mammeta (narrowing eyes): “Do you swear impartiality?”

  NewForm: [Signs slowly: “I see form. I weigh bance.”] Then bows.

  Then bows.

  Sealia (watching calmly): “Accepted.”

  Atticus (tapping his notes, dry): “Hmm, technically… court attire requires all hats to be removed.”

  NewForm’s head tilted sharply. His body posture shifted, not aggressive, but unmistakably resolute. He signed again, this time with a firmer cadence.

  NewForm: “This hat is not attire. It is identity. In my culture removing it would be no less disrobing than asking you to shed your feathers.”

  Mammeta paused. Weighed the words. Then nodded.

  Mammeta: “Cultural exception granted. Let it be noted: the hat stays.”

  Atticus (under his breath): “Of course it does…”

  Candidate 7: Wil ButterbeeAttentive, has seen more bra’s in 30 years than most will in a lifetime.

  Atticus, “Accepted”

  Selia: “No objections.”

  Final Court Clerk Announcement: “Jury is set. Proceedings begin at dawn. Scry coverage begins an hour prior.”

  Mammeta rises, divine curves radiant with wful power. “This court recognizes the depth of the curse. Tomorrow, we will attempt to determine its bounds.”

  The Trial

  Interior: Sealia’s Private Suite at the Ruffled Rest (Day 8, Late Evening)

  Marabeth stood in front of the mirror, nervously adjusting a cloak that wouldn’t stop sliding to one side due to… gravitational interference.

  Sealia the Layer circled her like a tailor with a grudge. She flicked a loose breast-wrap, then jabbed her stylus into a legal pad floating nearby.

  “You’re not just cursed. You’re compromised and compelling. That’s dangerous in this court.”

  “I didn’t ask to be compelling.”

  “No one asks for cheeky enchantments. They just arrive with ribbons and poor consent cuses.”

  Marabeth sighed. “Do we have a chance?”

  Sealia smirked. “Yes. Yes we do.”

  Sealia’s Strategy:

  Legal Precedent: Melfrid v. Whisperwish, where a bard cursed with involuntary moaning was granted protective silence spells.

  Emotional Appeal: “You’re not ashamed—you’re overwhelmed. We sell busts like yours on statues and then punish women for living in them.”

  Jury Py:

  Wil: “Speak frankly. She’ll trust you if you sound like you’re a gardener.”

  Blink: “Keep it simple. No theory. Just honesty.”

  Esmelda: “Appeal to dignity, not freedom.”

  The Goose: “Let the transtor work for you. Your suffering needs to honk.”

  NewForm: “Pose well. He listens to truth in posture.”

  Across the Inn: Defense Prep RoomBalconette, lounging upside down in a floating hammock, blowing pink bubble runes. Atticus Nibbs paces in front of her, scrolls flying around like anxious ducks.

  “Just to review,” he says, tapping notes, “your position is that her remarks about breast size insulted the leyline’s harmonic bance, which required you to drop a curse parcel without consent?”

  “She was asking for it. She said, and I quote, ‘Some people just want attention.’”

  “Miss Balconette, I must remind you, legal precedent does not recognize sass as a summons.”

  She snorted. “Then the w’s broken. Fix it.”

  Atticus’s Strategy:

  Precedent Abuse: Citing Glipple vs. Sparkling Glee, where fairy whim was deemed protected as cultural expression.

  Burden of Disenchantment: Argue that Marabeth didn’t perform the correct cleansing ritual within the first 48 hours.

  Jury Py:

  Blink: “He’s tired. Make the argument about wasted time.”

  Esmelda: “Present the curse as a character lesson.”

  Goose: “Honor. Dignity. Big breasts in war. Geese respect rge breasts.”

  NewForm: “Thread art. Spin a narrative of fairy aesthetic rights and lean into cultural expression. Mannequin society is very big on freedom of expression.”

  Wil: “…do not condescend. That woman’s handled more bra’s than the rest of them put together.”

  Day 9: Courthouse Steps, DawnInterlude: The Courtyard Before the TrialThe marble pza outside the Hall of Magical Redress had become, quite literally, a glitter-drenched circus of magical debate, enchanted merch, and accidental jiggle-shaming.

  By midmorning, the air was buzzing with chants, opinion spells, scry-drones, and the unmistakable sound of a gnome bard trying to make rhymed protest coverage a thing. The crowd was restless, noisy, and very, very breast-aware.

  1. Protesters & SupportersOn one side of the pza stood the BFF, the Bustline Fairy Federation, a group of fairy-rights advocates, activist sprites, and two ex-mannequin influencers from Brazango.

  Their signs read:

  “Enchantment Is Expression!”

  “No More Bindings—Let the Bounce Be Binding!”

  “Boobs Are Just Joy with Mass!”

  Most of them were topless. A few wore tit-shimmer sashes enchanted to ripple with appuse whenever anyone said the word “liberation.” One fairy fpped her wings proudly, revealing that they spelled “FREE THE NIP” in sequin-light glyphs.

  Across from them, a very different energy crackled.

  MAMM—Mothers Against Magical Mammaries—were out in full buttoned-up force. Schoolteachers, retired potion auditors, and at least one sorcerer’s ex-wife stood shoulder to shoulder in sun hats and rigid-colred robes.

  Their signs were firmer than their busts:

  “My Breasts, My Boundaries!”

  “No Consent? No Cantaloupes!”

  “Our Bodies Aren’t Public Property—Even When Cursed!”

  At the center of their line stood a very offended bard with a lute stamped “PG Only.” She’d already tried to drown out the BFF chants with a dirge called “No More Booby Traps,” but was getting heckled by a group of college students.

  2. The Ambivalent BystandersHovering just outside both camps, a growing swell of curious locals and Cone-wide rubberneckers treated the courthouse steps like festival bleachers.

  A Therian barista on break from Velvet Tailwind sipped a vender-tte-in-a-bag and muttered, “Honestly? Better than soap opera scry-feeds. And I love those.”

  A group of betting goblins had set up odds on which juror would crack first, with side bets for:

  “Jury member who says ‘honkers’ aloud”

  “First person to honk in open court”

  “Fairy that gets tackled by divine guards”

  One particurly enterprising goblin (rumored to be Blink’s cousin) dragged a squeaky cart beled:

  “Bouncy Bargains – One Charm, Two Lifts!”

  He shouted to both sides:

  “Cursed Bra Charms! Guaranteed to suppress bounce for thirty seconds or your conscience back!”

  Nobody knew what that meant.

  3. Vendors and OpportunistsBusty Wanda’s Pop-Up Boutique stood proudly by the scry-fountain.

  She sold enchanted ce masks (“To protect your eyes from compulsion, darling”)

  “Tragedy T-Shirts” that sagged sympathetically when grief spells activated nearby

  And mugs beled “I Survived the J-Cup Curse”—which grew cartoon boobs when filled with hot drinks.

  Meanwhile, a ScryMedia Drone Crew hovered above, one crystal glowing live with pulsing broadcast runes.

  Reporter: “We are live outside the Redress Hall where an unprecedented legal confrontation is about to unfold—fairy freedom versus bodily consent. Stay tuned as the enchanted bustline of history approaches judgment.”

  4. Witnesses and Weirdos Milling AroundBalconette floated above it all, reclining midair in a shimmering “Boob Fairy Legal Fund” corset. She tossed glitter with the reckless glee of someone who knew divine bureaucracy could only technically smite her.

  Balconette: “The real crime is repression! And bad straps!”

  She blew a kiss at a bard and got booed by a schoolmarm.

  On a balcony above, Sealia the Layer watched with eyes like storm-gss.

  Sealia (muttering): “Try that in front of Mammeta, I dare you.”

  Back near the court carriage lot, Marabeth Thistlebrae sat in a velvet-lined coach, wrapped in veil yers and reinforced dignity. She refused to step out until the protection enchantments were double-confirmed.

  Every time the wind stirred, her chest responded with magical bounce physics that knocked over a potted fern.

  An enchanted painter nearby tried to sketch the moment—only to have his brush sp him across the face in protest.

  Mini-Moment: Protest CrossfireA fairy protester fluttered up to a stern MAMM organizer, wings crackling.

  Fairy (gleeful): “Just admit it—you’re jealous! These jugs are divine!”

  Organizer (deadpan, blouse safety-pinned shut): “I’ve raised three sons and survived a full-spectrum milk curse. I don’t need fairy fireworks swinging at my chin during brunch.”

  A nearby bard dropped her quill.

  Bard (awestruck): “Oooooh. That’s going in a song.”

  Closing Image Before the Trial BeginsSuddenly, a low velvet chime rang through the air.

  It pulsed like distant thunder wrapped in silk. The bickering, chanting, and mug-selling all slowed.

  A hush spread, not full silence, but the kind of anticipatory quiet that falls when divine power steps on the hem of mortal nonsense.

  Above the courthouse, giant glowing scales hovered in the sky—one side shimmering gold, the other dipped slightly… as if waiting.

  One fairy tried to twerk against the divine pressure and immediately fell into a bush.

  Then came the chime that announced that the trial would be starting shortly. And just like that, the front doors opened.

  ______________

  Inside, the jury was filing into pce. Wil Butterbee took her seat st, wiping her hands on a gardening apron and nodding politely at the bailiff. Then came the thunder.

  The chamber doors burst open with a velvet-crack boom. Some enchantments hissed. The bards fell into stunned silence mid-rhyme. Then immediately resumed, with six of them freestyle-commentating at once, trying to capture the moment:

  “She glides like judgment in silk and steel-” “The javelin glows, and I just feel!” “Veritas in heels, that’s how you kneel!” “Divine and stacked-” “Don’t say stacked!” “Sorry, poetic impulse!”

  None of them were quite loud enough. Because the crowd? Still talking. Still arguing. Still loudly asking if boobs counted as divine intent.

  Mammeta blipped then appeared at the judges seat in full regalia: gown sculpted of living velvet, a javelin taller than a scarecrow, eyes glowing with divine crity.

  “Silence,” she said. She banged the javelin once. Sparks arced. Everyone kept talking. She banged it again, the air itself thickened. Sound slowed. Chatter died in throats.

  “I said… Silence.” She cpped once. The air tightened. Not painfully, just enough that noise had to fight to exist.

  “This is the Court of Magical Redress, not the Feathered Corset Follies.”

  A stunned silence. Then she smiled, warmly, calmly, like a favorite aunt who also happened to control gravitational pressure with her staff.

  “Let us proceed. The trial of Marabeth Thistlebrae v. The Boob Fairy Collective is now in session. All rise, then sit down and behave.”